Road Less Traveled
by DDG
Summary: *Gen* “It’s a pathway,” came a whisper from the corner. “A pathway . . ..”


**Title:** Road Less Traveled  
**Character(s):** Michael, Haywire  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 1021  
**Warnings: **Haywire's general craziness. Spoilers for 01.15, "By the Skin and the Teeth."  
**Summary:** "It's a pathway," came a whisper from the corner. "A pathway . . .."  
**Author's Notes:** Because you _know_ it's plausible.  
**Beta:** AlmostForgiven  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine -- just taking them out for a little spin.

* * *

The handle was completely cold to the touch and nearly adhered to Michael's sweaty palm as he pulled the heavy metal door open. 

Clad in white, the psychiatric ward attendant grinned at him from behind the counter.

"Need to use the head again?" He questioned, standing to unlock the next set of doors.

Michael's expression remained stoic. "Not exactly."

The attendant's grin faltered. Hand resting against his thigh, one key from a set held between two fingers, he scratched at his chin awkwardly with the other hand. "What's your business then, Blue?" The attendant tapped the key lightly against the white fabric of his pant leg.

"There's an inmate I . . ." Michael paused and considered the attendant critically before continuing, " . . . need to see."

Understanding, the attendant nodded and turned to the door behind him. "Who do you need to see, Blue?"

Michael paced across the room and followed the man through the door. "Charles Patoshik."

The attendant whirled around suddenly, an eyebrow raised. "Haywire? Whaddya need to see him for?"

"There was an incident a few weeks ago with Patoshik's cell mate while he was in GenPop." Michael shifted his shoulder to reduce the amount of contact with the bandage. "I'm here to do a follow-up."

"Little late for that, aren't you?" The attendant led Michael down the hall, taking the first left.

Counting off the cells as they passed them, Michael strived to remember details from the missing piece of the tattoo. "Better late than never," he mentioned, eyeing a pipe running along the ceiling.

The attendant stopped next to the third to last cell and pulled off a key from his belt. "You going to be okay by yourself in there or . . .?"

The door was opened. "I'll be fine."

Michael warily stepped inside the dim cell and glanced over his shoulder as the door was closed behind him.

Mumbling from the adjacent corner caught Michael's attention before a massive expanse of parallel and crisscrossing lines covering the walls made his eyes widen. His foot involuntarily fell back and he pressed against the door only to hear the soft wrinkle of paper. Turning his head slowly, Michael began recognizing small parts of the crudely drawn map ordaining the grim brick walls.

He saw the infirmary and the pipes running beneath it; he saw A-Wing and the SHU; the guard's room and the yard.

"It's a pathway," came a whisper from the corner. "A pathway . . .."

Michael traced his finger along a pipe way, looking for the psych ward.

Haywire was pacing; Michael could hear his footsteps as he padded back and forth.

"Where . . .?" The pacing stopped and Michael could feel Haywire's eery brown eyes burning into him.

"Who? Who's there?"

Michael stepped forward and Haywire's eyes narrowed.

"What do you want?"

Michael gestured to the map on the walls. "I need your help."

"How did you . . . that uniform . . . what's with the . . ."

Haywire was suddenly on him, tearing at his shirt ferociously, desperately.

"Where are you taking me?" he cried, his eyes shining in the dark. Michael pushed at Haywire's arms and shrank back from his encroaching face. Haywire's mouth was open – he'd had his pills not too long ago, Michael could smell the acidic vomit – and his eyes were wide, searching.

Fingers pulled at Michael's belt, probing and tugging at his shirt. "It's a pathway! Where does it lead?"

Haywire's forehead was pressing against Michael's now, eyes staring deeply into Michael's, looking for the answer.

Michael pushed at Haywire's chest and shoved him off. Haywire scrabbled to his feet as Michael did and slowly advanced, his eyes trailing up and down Michael's half-unbuttoned, half-tucked shirt.

"Why are you doing this?" Haywire's eyes looked even madder than before and Michael had a feeling that – if it hadn't of been so dark – he could have seen the muscles in Haywire's cheeks twitch every now and then.

Hands were at Michael's shirt again but he slapped them away.

"I need to see the rest of it," he was crying, any ounce of control he might have had completely lost. "I _have_ to see it all."

Michael sidestepped around the cell, keeping his gaze on Haywire.

"It's . . ." Haywire lunged and grasped at the polyester of Michael's stolen uniform.

"It's not to Hell," Michael said, taking his eyes from Haywire momentarily to look at the blueprints nearest him. "I'm not taking you anywhere."

"Yes you are!"

Michael grabbed at Haywire's shoulders and tackled him to the ground.

Haywire struggled and dug his nails into Michael's arms. "I won't let you take me! I won't! I won't!"

"I'm not taking you anywhere!" Michael slid his hands farther down Haywire's arms and repositioned his legs, successfully pinning him. "I just need a favor."

Sucking in air wildly, Haywire looked everywhere around the room but at Michael. "_I'm not going!_"

"You're not going."

"I'm not going!"

"That's what I said. You're not going."

Haywire's eyes finally met Michael's and he seemed to calm. "What are you doing here?"

Nodding to the drawings, Michael answered, "I'm missing a piece."

"I didn't take it!" protested Haywire, eyes widening again.

"I need it back."

Haywire blinked, considering, while Michael's nose twitched from the smell of vomit on his breath.

There was silence in the room, broken only by Haywire's labored breathing before there came a murmured response.

Michael shifted his weight. "What?"

"I want to see the rest of it," Haywire said, adding quickly, "the tattoo."

"Okay."

"And I want to know where it leads."

Michael smiled, cautiously releasing Haywire. "The missing piece first." Standing, Michael lifted his shoulder gingerly. "Right shoulder blade --"

Haywire's eyes were wide again. "The whack shack. Two and a half bricks over, five bricks up." He pointed and Michael turned.

A large clang on the door brought Michael back to reality – he didn't have much more time. He snatched the missing piece of his tattoo from off the wall and shoved it in his pocket.

"All right, Blue. You've been in there long enough."

Michael headed for the door.

"Where does it lead?" Haywire was following him, eyes shining in the darkness.

The attendant opened the door and Michael stepped outside before muttering:

"Nowhere."


End file.
